


Exchange

by flustereddarcy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian is a Good Friend, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, cullen is too professional and trevelyan refuses to be, dorian and quizzy are bffs, letter writing, varric is a good friend-quaintance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-22 07:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17658566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustereddarcy/pseuds/flustereddarcy
Summary: Letters, notes, and missives exchanged between the members of the Inquisition, 9:40-9:42 Dragon, compiled in no particular order. Inspired in part by the amazing work of vehlr and weatheredlaw's Logolepsy series.





	1. Cullen and Amelia, the Emerald Graves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Inquisitor in this "story" (is a set of letters with occasional narrative interludes considered a "story"?) is Amelia Trevelyan, often called Mel, the fifth of five siblings and an archer with the artificer specialization. Relevant game decisions will be expanded on in later chapters.

Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,

Thank you for the missive you sent. It was unexpected, and well-received. ~~Mabari remind me of Ferelden~~ I appreciate the thought.  
Please keep me updated on the status of the situation in the Emerald Graves. Leliana was mute on the subject, though I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of knowledge. ~~She knows everything~~ I probably won’t get more out of you but I thought I’d ask.

Regards,

Commander Cullen Rutherford

* * * * *

Cullen,

Really? My fancy title and your fancy title and ending with “regards?” I appreciate the respect (and it’s definitely returned) but I think we’re on a first name basis by now, seriously. I can practically hear your armor creaking from across the continent. (Though that being said, I do very much miss the sound. It always accompanies you).  
Nonetheless, I was glad to hear from you. Happy to hear that you appreciated your gift--the only thing I could do better is buy you a real mabari... I’ll hold off on that.  
The Venatori in the Emerald Graves are popping up everywhere like nugs, though I’m a lot more inclined to slay fascistic Tevinters than Leliana’s favorite type of pet. Dorian is grimmer than usual, but that’s not new; he hates that we have to fight his countrymen. Cassandra’s doing well, though I’d swear I saw her smiling not too long ago...if Corypheus doesn’t end the world, that sight surely will. And Iron Bull is just happy to beat up Vints, not to mention he tells the best campfire stories.  
I’ve enclosed a copy of a relevant letter that Dorian found on the corpse of one of the Venatori mages. It contains information about red lyrium, though from what I read I doubt it will help Dagna’s research. Nonetheless, I thought I’d send it.  
Write back soon--your letters keep me going on these shadowy, spooky nights. 

Yours,

Amelia Trevelyan

* * * * *

Lady Amelia,

Letter writing is not one of my strengths, and I also can’t read your mind all the way from Skyhold. So you’ll have to forgive any breaches or overreaches in decorum. I’ll try to be less not be so alter my tone from now on?  
Thank you for the Venatori letter you found. Dagna was excited when she read it, so I suppose that’s a good sign, albeit also a rather foreboding one. She told me she’d have results in within the week, so if you and your party don’t return from the Graves by then, expect a letter from her. 

Keep me updated and stay safe.

Commander Cullen


	2. Amelia and Dorian, the Western Approach

Dorian,

Maker’s hairy arse, you would HATE it here. I hate it here and it’s only been a night. It’s dry and it’s hot and I have sand in places that even the Maker won’t talk about and we almost got killed by a particularly rude set of terrors vomited out of a rift and Snaggles almost bit my finger off during our fight with said terrors.  
I wish you were here, though. We could bounce complaints off each other and everything--just like always.   
Did you get that bottle of Vint-9 Rowan's Rose I left you? I had it shipped from my uncle’s stores in Ostwick--he was more than happy to fulfill his favorite niece’s request, though I didn’t tell him it was going to you; I’d rather let him enjoy the mental image of me getting drunk as an Orzammar noble at a wedding. Look at me, complaining and wishing you were here, when I know you’d rather be sipping wine and reading up on new theories in magic.  
Tell me about anything particularly interesting that happens while I’m gone. Josephine sends me gossip, sure, but that’s all business. I’d rather get all the good stuff from you.  
Write back when you can--I can’t imagine how terribly busy it must be back at Skyhold.

Amelia

* * * * *

My dearest Amelia,

It’s wonderful to hear from you. I’m sorry about how dry and sandy it is where you are--perhaps you could get a certain military commander to run you a bath when you return? Ugh, look at me matchmaking--I sound like my mother.   
The wine you had sent to me is utterly divine. So divine, in fact, that I even managed to save some for you to try when you get back. See what you people have done to me? I can’t even finish a bottle of wine anymore.   
You asked for gossip and trust me when I say that my ears are pinned to every bloody wall listening to every possible scrap of information. Well, more so than usual anyway. We did have a few nobles from Starkhaven arrive three days ago and make a number of. . .very thinly veiled insults to the Inquisition and to Skyhold. But before you run back here in a rage with a fresh quiver of arrows, I’ll have you know that Josephine and Leliana very much put them in their place. If I remember correctly, our dear ambassador said something to the effect of Prince Vael being a relation of yours by marriage and the Inquisition cutting off someone’s horse supply from Ostwick. Meanwhile, Leliana just stood there being terrifying. Oh, you should have seen it--art in its truest form.   
Keep your wits about you out there.

Dorian


	3. Interlude, the Emerald Graves

Iron Bull’s voice cut through the din of the battle, which was just descending from its peak now that the pride demon was at least subdued. “Shit, Amelia’s down! Dorian, get in there!”  
  
Dorian cursed. “Fastas vas!” he snapped, and swiftly used a burst of magic to extricate himself from the shades coming at him before sprinting in. He knew Cassandra had to have heard it but she was busy taking out a particularly pesky terror and couldn’t afford to divert her eyes. Dorian felt his hands shaking as he quickly checked Mel’s pulse--faint but definitely there. He let out a long breath of relief before pulling a potion from his belt. “Bull, cover us!”  
  
“Way ahead of you, kadan. We’re almost done here anyway,” Bull replied, and laid the final blow upon the now-rousing pride demon before slicing through the remaining shades.  
  
Dorian gently slapped at Mel’s reddened cheeks, cursing under his breath. “Come on, Amelia, this rift won’t seal itself--”  
  
Mel awoke with a pained cough, her hand flying to to the shallow, bloodied gashes along the portion of her armor that covered her ribcage. Her eyes were still foggy as she tried to focus on Dorian. “Fucking _shit_ \--”  
  
“Rift, Amelia!”  
  
“Okay, okay--” Amelia struggled up and before Dorian could help, Bull was boosting her on his own, while Cassandra loped towards them with a slight limp. Mel hissed in pain as she raised her arm and winced as she sealed the rift; Dorian shook his head as the burst of magic made his teeth fuzzy.  
  
“What hit you, Inquisitor? When I’d last looked in your direction you were nearly invisible,” Cassandra asked, her face harsh like a mentor’s but still concerned like a friend’s.  
  
Mel scrunched up her nose as the pain in her lacerations flared. “Laying traps. Got cocky and forgot that shades have some big fucking claws. Solas would be so proud, always reminding me to be wary of demons and such.”  
  
“Solas would not dream to mock you--he would worry,” Cassandra retorted. “Let us return to camp.”  
  
“Can you walk, boss? If not, I can--”  
  
Amelia smirked as she glanced up at Bull. “Can’t let the troops see their fearless leader carted in like a hapless maiden, now can we?” she joked. “Thanks, but your arm is plenty. Just do me a favor and don’t let me fall.”  
  
“Not a chance,” Bull replied with a smile.  
  
They began to walk--slowly, slower than Mel would’ve wanted if not for her stupid wound--and she turned to Dorian. “Alright, go on, Dorian. Scold, admonish, reprimand, finger-wag. I know you want to. It wouldn’t be a proper scrap if you didn’t.”  
  
Dorian’s expression was almost comical in its annoyance, smeared as it was by blood and demon remnants. “You are far too eager to take risks for someone whose main skill is laying traps and shooting arrows, Amelia. Maker forbid there comes a time when we have to bring pieces of you back to your dear commander.”  
  
“Please never say that within earshot of the man, for his own sake.”

* * *

 

Amelia would never get used to the way that people fawned over her, now that she was touched by the Maker or Andraste or whatever it was that everyone else called it. Having been raised in nobility, she’d been doted on plenty in her youth, which was kind and innocently-meant at best and cloyingly aggravating at worst, but her life in Ostwick was nothing compared to what it was like to be the Inquisitor.  
  
The moment they arrived at Direstone Camp, two Inquisition soldiers and the healer all rushed to her, taking her from Bull and guiding her to the tent she shared with Cassandra.  
  
“I can move on my own, Browdin, I promise--” Amelia insisted, but growled under her breath in annoyance as Dorian cut her off.  
  
“She’s lying. Lay her down and keep her there, would you?” he said in his usual flippant tone, and Amelia looked back to glare at him; he responded with a ‘go ahead’ wave of his hand as he followed them, the air around him subtly starting to shift as he presumably gathered mana for healing spells.  
  
Amelia decided to stop protesting and let herself be placed on the cot in the tent; the world around her spun, making her scrunch her eyes closed, and Dorian rolled his eyes.  
  
“I told you to take it easy, Amelia--”  
  
“Don’t snip at me, I didn’t do anything--”  
  
Dorian knelt next to the cot and used a quick spell to fill a nearby basin with water. “Hush and let me work. Be a dear and grab rags, some elfroot, and serah Mirae, would you please?” He glanced up at Browdin and he nodded curtly before darting out of the tent.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dorian. I’m not usually so. . .sloppy,” Amelia murmured, tugging off her outer layer of clothing.  
  
“Think nothing of it, my dear. I’d rather take time to patch up the Herald of Andraste than watch our only source of closing the rifts succumb to her wounds,” Dorian replied, and while his tone was as breezy and confident as usual, Mel could hear the bit of strain at the edge. She tentatively caught his eye.  
  
“Say that all you want, but we both know I was, in fact, sloppy,” Mel added, and Dorian paused for a moment before rolling his eyes and then letting out a quick huff of laughter.  
  
“I already told you off on the way here, I don’t think it needs doing again,” he said, and gave her a quick grin. The tent flapped open again to reveal the same soldier from before, now holding a wicker box of healing salves with a bowl of water perched precariously on top. Dorian darted up from where he’d been sitting to help him. “Mm, allow me--” He took the bowl in one hand and nodded for him to place the box on the floor, and out of the corner of her eye Mel watched Browdin salute and leave the tent again.  
  
She cast her gaze over to Dorian, who’d begun to dampen a rag.  
  
“What? Can’t keep your eyes off me, I see?”  
  
Mel smiled, hoping that her exhaustion made it look as genuine as she felt. “Thank you, Dorian.”  
  
He arched a suspicious eyebrow, and the sight both saddened and endeared her--how was it that he didn’t know how much his friendship meant to her? “What for?”  
  
“For. . .always being there for me. I look to you first when we’re out here like this, so. . .thank you.”  
  
He looked surprised for a moment, his hand hovering with the still-wet rag, before a warm smile lit up his face. “Always, my friend.”


	4. Garlan and Amelia, the Exalted Plains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garlan is Amelia's second sibling and oldest brother; in order, her siblings are Helena (a married noble), Garlan (a a jouster and accomplished rake), Jeyne (a Circle mage), and Willem (a Chantry brother from the Chancellor Roderick school of public relations).

To my sister, apparently now called “Her Worship Lady Inquisitor Herald,” 

Only you would leave for a peace conference and come out of it a religious figure leading a growing army of the Chantry’s faithful! I know you’re the youngest Trevelyan, Mel, but if you wanted attention you could’ve just participated in the Grand Tourney under a different name--Oh, wait, you already did that. I suppose starting a quasi-religious movement was the next best thing.   
I’m glad to hear you’re in one piece. We all are. When we heard that the entire village of Haven fucking exploded, Mother was hysterical and Father didn’t speak to anyone. Helena didn’t take it too well, though I couldn’t tell much just from letters. Willem is...well, you know. Willem. And there was just a single letter from Jeyne, which we were lucky to even receive. But you’re alive, and we’re grateful.  
Mother’s over my shoulder whinging at me as I speak...she wants me to “write down what I say word for word, Garlan Lawrence Trevelyan. I know you can hear me!” But basically, she’s glad you’re okay and she wants you to write home more.   
It’s a bit quieter without you--you were always good at handing out orders, delegating, but at the same time never making anyone feel beneath you. I assume you’re putting that to use in the Inquisition.   
Keep yourself safe, alright? We all want to hear your stories in person--you always tell them best. 

Sincerely,  
Garlan Trevelyan

* * * * *

To the most annoying brother in the world,

It’s not like I wasn’t going to write, it’s just…  
Alright fine, you’ve got me. Every time I had time--which wasn’t often, seriously!--I’d just sit at my writing desk, unable to even think of a proper salutation, much less a way to explain what’s been happening. Yes, I’m the Inquisitor, and yes there’s a crazed magister out to make that hole in the sky even bigger, but that’s not even an inch of this mile-long mess, and it’d take me that much paper to explain it all.  
(And will you ever let me live down the Grand Tourney in 9:37? I did well!)  
I didn’t mean to get caught up in all this, Garlan. It all happened so fast...and now look at me. Big glowing magic mark on my hand, leading an army, and hanging on by the skin of my damn teeth. I’m glad that everyone at home is alright. Mother is...as fine as can be expected, which is exactly what I expected. I’m hoping that Father is...proud of me? Is that too much to ask? Probably.   
So much is expected of me in this role, Garlan. So much. Every choice I make matters far too much, from rubbing elbows at the Winter Palace to taking out bandits on the coast to choosing what kind of bed I want in my room (it’s a four-poster that I had imported from Markham, by the way. I’ve never really been one to ask for much, but this is the one thing I wanted for me). If you have any pointers, I’d welcome them.  
Now that you’ve called me out on it, I promise to try to write more. Really!

Love,  
Mel


	5. Josephine and Amelia, Skyhold

Lady Trevelyan,

The potential spies in the Tevinter court are being dealt with as we speak. Dorian feels that diplomacy was the best option; according to him, cloak-and-dagger is “a bit pedestrian” for the court in Minrathous. However, a bit more counsel from you is needed before we proceed further. Shall we meet in my office after 4 to discuss? Dorian will be joining us, though we must attempt to actually stay on task this time, Your Worship.  
Also, there are a number of other letters from the Dowager Countess that require your attention. I apologize in advance. Truly.

Sincerely,  
Ambassador Montilyet

* * * * *

Josephine,

Ugh, that bloody countess. How many male children does she have?! You’d think she’d run out of sons to foist upon me by now, or at least I hoped my frowny faces would’ve done the trick. ~~Cullen won’t be pleased~~ Has she moved onto nephews now? Maker’s breath.  
Tevinter machinations are much more my speed. You know that Dorian and I are the very definition of professionalism! And no, I can’t convince him not to bring wine...especially not if he can sip from a glass of Skyhold’s best reserve in front of you with that annoying smirk on his face. Yes, I hate that smirk, too.  
Diplomacy is better with drinking, I’m telling you, Lady Ambassador.  
Four o’clock it is. I’ll bring pastries. 

Amelia

* * * * *

Lady Trevelyan,

Thank you ever so much for your patience during our proceedings. Please believe that I also didn’t expect the countess to actually send her nephews--which set our discussion back considerably. How all of them managed to talk for half an hour straight is beyond me. Dorian’s humor was quite helpful, but please do not tell him I said that.  
I will send my courier Odette along with any necessary updates, though I doubt there will be many. 

Sincerely,  
Ambassador Montilyet


	6. Solas and Amelia, Skyhold

Solas and Amelia, Skyhold

Amelia,

Sister Leliana notified me of your...mood, related to the Wardens at Adamant. Though I can’t say she needed to--you can be rather easy to read, you know. I know not if it will be any consolation, but I agree with your choice to exile the Wardens. Their behavior, and the speed with which they leapt to such appalling measures, is detestable and they should be prevented from endangering Thedas any further.  
However, I understand what it’s like to make a difficult choice, one so difficult it seems impossible. Such situations often feel like no option is sufficient, and all will lead to suffering. Please trust me when I say that there is always a light. None of us here think less of you for what you did, even those who disagree. You have done what you felt was best for Thedas, with the support of those around you, and this time was no different. Yours is a _hellathen_ , and you are admired for enduring it with such grace.

_Ir lasa ghilan, ma falon._

Solas

* * *

Solas,

Thank you for the letter. I forget how much I wear my feelings on my sleeve--Varric’s warned me that the faces I make are all going in his book, so I suppose I just have to deal with that when it comes.  
It’s good to know that people still think I’m at least somewhat competent. I try to be. I try really, really hard to be. It means a lot to know that you think I made the right choice.

_Ma melava halani--ma serannas._

Amelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow during my playthrough Mel befriended Solas kind of deeply, so this is that in letter form. 
> 
> _hellathen_ \- journey
> 
>  _Ir lasa ghilan, ma falon_ \- I grant you guidance, my friend.
> 
>  _Ma melava halani--ma serannas._ \- You helped me--thank you.


	7. Interlude, Skyhold

Cullen ascended the stairs slowly, not sure of what he’d find in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Dorian had been uncharacteristically angry when they’d spoken, his words curt and bitten even in their loquaciousness.  
  
“Well, she refuses to even listen to me, much less respond with any degree of usefulness, so it might be best if you try and talk to her, Commander,” he’d snapped, glaring over his shoulder as he picked at the dusty tomes on the shelves. “Now go on--I suspect you don’t have much time before she drinks herself into a stupor.”  
  
And with that, Cullen hadn’t wasted a moment, making his way through the labyrinth of Skyhold and up the stairwells that led to the Inquisitor’s sizable quarters. The hallways were draped with banners, alternating between the Inquisition’s sunburst heraldry and the sharp corners of the Free Marches, the latter of which intertwined with what was likely the proud horse for the Trevelyan family. It occurred to him that he’d never been to Amelia’s room, not beyond walking her to the door after their occasional late nights working, and even then he’d been so stunned by a simple flutter of her eyelashes that he’d been left reeling. He took a deep breath as he came up the last few stairs, preparing himself for whatever might meet him.  
  
Amelia looked unusually disheveled, having divested herself of her overcoat and sitting on the bed barefooted in her trousers and linen undershirt. An empty bottle of wine sat on the floor near her nightstand, a half-empty bottle of brandy stood on the nightstand, and the canopy of her bed shadowed her face from the candlelight.  
  
“Amelia…”  
  
“Evening, Commander. Come to join my lonesome festivities?” she said and raised her glass to him. Her slurred voice was so brittle and frail that it made Cullen wince. She looked up at him and her cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol, a sharp contrast to their hollowness.  
  
Worry made Cullen drop his stack of books and papers on the nearest table and he rushed to her, not bothering to hide it. His hands went to her face almost as a reflex, trying to find something, anything wrong, something he could fix. “When’s the last time you ate? Let me go to the kitchen, I’m sure that--”  
  
Now her words were sharp, angry, tinged with bitterness. “I’m not hungry, Cullen. The only thing I want is to forget that the last forty-eight hours ever happened.” Her eyes--always light but now pale and washed out from exhaustion--were bleak as she looked at him. “I hated it. Even as it came out of my mouth, I knew I hated it. The very sound of it, Cullen, of having to say ‘banished from Southern Thedas.’ The sheer audacity of fate conspiring to make me the person to say those words…” She took a slow sip of brandy, closing her eyes and grimacing. “Do you think less of me for it?”  
  
His answer was immediate. “No.”  
  
You’re allowed to, you know. You really are. I know that not every choice I make will be popular--heavens above, even in my own inner circle I have too many damned interests to cater to. But I’m not just pleasing my family’s vassals anymore...I’m pleasing all of fucking Thedas,” Amelia murmured. She focused on him fully, the furrow between her eyes that he loved to kiss when she was stressed growing deeper. “Why are you here tonight, Cullen? Did Leliana tell you I was drinking away my nightmares?”  
  
Cullen could feel his legs protesting from the rather unpleasant squatting position he was in, but didn’t dare move, not while he had her talking honestly. “It was Dorian, actually. You should give him a bit more credit regarding how well he knows you.”  
  
Amelia chuckled, taking another hefty swig. “Funny, he tells me to remember that about you.”  
  
“And...what do you say in return?” Cullen asked carefully.  
  
“About how well you know me?” Amelia looked him in the eyes for a moment, her gaze shrewd even in her haze of intoxication. “I told him that I’m used to taking care of myself. Emotionally, at least.”  
  
“You don’t need to, Amelia! Maker’s breath, just…” Cullen trailed off from his outburst, thinking for a moment as his hands rested on her arms, before visibly coming to a decision. “You mean...a great deal to me, Amelia. Beyond just the Inquisition. And I’ll do everything in my power to help you understand that. No choice you make could have me think worse of you.”  
  
Amelia simply shook her head, sliding her empty glass onto her nightstand and tugging away from him to stand up. “I fell into the Fade, watched the Divine get sacrificed, left a good man in it to die, and banished our only hope of defeating the next Blight. This has been just...the worst fucking day,” she said, running a hand through her hair as she meandered. “It’s just like Hawke said, before we went to Adamant… ‘In the end, we are always alone with our actions.’ And I was ready to be alone with mine."  
  
Cullen reached out to touch her face and she trembled at the contact, her eyes closing. "You don't need to be. Not with all of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel wasn't happy with what she did about the Wardens, and everyone in the inner circle could see it. But IMO she's not the easiest person to comfort, so they sent the person who was most likely to succeed at the task to try and help.


	8. Amelia and Cullen, Skyhold

_[tucked under a plate on Cullen’s desk holding a blueberry muffin and a cheese pastry]_  
  
You looked adorable when you were sleeping this morning--forgive me for not waking you. I know you’re meeting with Harding and Rylen at nine, so I thought I’d let you sleep until then. You do need a good night’s sleep, you know, even if you seemed convinced you can function without it.  
I have to be in Val Royeaux by Tuesday, so I’ll be en route with Dorian by the time you see this. I’ll see you in a week. I love you.

Amelia

PS: You like blueberry muffins, right? I remember you mentioning it when we traveled to Halamshiral. 

* * * * *

 _[sitting on Amelia’s desk next to a plate holding a chocolate scone]_  
  
Thank you for the breakfast. I appreciated it.  
Next time, please wake me.

Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, but hopefully also sweet.


	9. Varric, Josephine, and the Iron Bull, Skyhold

Josephine,

I hate to go behind Curly’s back with this, but please for the love of all the ale in the world tell me that he’s planned something for the Inquisitor’s nameday. It’s in a week and if he forgot I swear I’ll introduce him to Bianca’s business end. I tried talking to him about it but his mouth was more shut than a lyrium mine. I’m asking because, if he’s forgotten, some of us will have to compensate...

Yours in righteous annoyance,

Varric

* * * * *

Varric,

Trust me, Leliana and I both been needling him. He does have something planned, though I’m fairly certain it’s private. However, I do believe that our Inquisitor wouldn’t be opposed to a more casual affair at the tavern, perhaps the night before her nameday? Amelia takes great pains to remain humble, but we all know she allows herself precious little chances to simply be, even if it seems like she’s unaffected. I feel that a simple night of fun will do her wonders. I trust that you can handle the planning of that? I’m sure Sera and Iron Bull will be quite happy to lend a hand.

Please tell me if there’s anything you need help with (within reason!).

Josephine

* * * * *

Hey Tiny, 

So I need your help--crazy, I know, considering how famous I’m not for asking for help, but I can’t do this on my own. Amelia’s nameday is on the 29th of Bloomingtide and we need to plan something. Nothing major--it’s not like we’re making it into a holiday or anything--but just something for her to loosen up. She deserves it. I was thinking about something at the Herald’s Rest, so can you get the Chargers involved at all?

Yours in party planning,

Varric

* * * * *

Varric!

I’d heard that the boss’ nameday was coming up and I swear I was just talking to Krem about this, so great timing!  
You’re right, she does deserve something good. She loves a good roasted meat so I was thinking bronto steaks--the tavern can definitely handle that. Fish would be better but we’re nowhere near the coast, so I’m going with the safe option.  
She likes Wicked Grace, and we’ve got plenty of cards lying around. And didn’t I hear you and her talking about a ball game that’s popular in the Marches? We’ll find a way to do that. Inside, probably.  
Should it be a surprise?  
Alright, that’s all I’ve got for now. Keep me in the loop. 

-the Iron Bull

P.S. “can I get the Chargers involved at all?” Shit Varric are you kidding me? They like the boss more than they like me! 

* * * * *

To the wonderful Lady Ambassador Ruffles,

Alright, here’s a list of things that Bull and I came up with:

-6 lbs of prawns from the Marches (if that’s not possible, 2 carcasses’ worth of bronto meat is fine. I’m not trying to make your life hell, Ruffles, I promise)  
-4 casks of golden ale from Markham  
-1 bottle of Wanton, 9:3 Dragon  
-2 bottles of West Hill Brandy  
-Literally all of the pastries you can reasonably find

Thanks for the help, Ruffles, you’re a lifesaver. And I do mean that literally--thank you for keeping those Orzammar nobles away last month. You saved me a world of headaches. 

Varric  


* * * * *

Varric,

It will be done. We’re lucky this is for the Inquisitor or else we’d be. . .hard-pressed to get away with it. 

Josephine Montilyet


End file.
